OK. This is a phone-in post. I am truthfully pretty focused on the fact that I am in consuming pain for no good reason, but a list that looked like this: 1. Pain, 2. Pain, 3. Pain would be dreary, so I will attempt to remember other things that I hate as well:
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| Photo by Matt Brown |
- Worst book ever. This is going to make me sound like a total asshole, but I read Tale of Two Cities for a book report in sixth grade because I was busy trying to prove what a genius I was, and I am still scarred. In my defense, I am an actual Dickens fan. I have read David Copperfield, A Christmas Carol, and The Adventures of Oliver Twist. But the words "It was the best of times. It was the worst of times." are scrawled onto my brain in the same fashion that "I promise to be a good boy" might be scrawled repeatedly upon a page by a castigated schoolboy. Never again.
- Color I hate. Avocado.This offensive color is always associated with the 70s, and paired with burnt orange, which was obviously the result of psychological tests to determine the color combination most offensive to the human eye. Especially when combined with paisley. UGH.
- Bad songs. Anything by Charles Mingus. I know. Throw stones. Really hard ones. But the thwacking sound of the stones bashing my skull will still sound better than this kind of jazz. Don't even get me started on Monk. OK, OK, I'm a total Philistine. I don't really like Classical either. I will go crawl in a hole and die now. A hole with my Disturbed mp3s...
- Bad romances.What does this mean? All romances are bad romances. Well, that's not true. I love most of my married friends, and I obviously love my husband. But I hate romances. Hate chick flicks. Hate romantic comedies. Hate romance novels. Hate celebrity magazines. Hate celebrities. I may as well grow a penis.
- Bad recipes. The worst is probably pickled eggs. I tried them at a luncheon. Everyone was fawning over them, but me? I was overcome with revulsion. I could hardly stand that they were even allowed on the table. They looked like giant tumescent eyeballs stained with bloody vinegar.
I guess the upshot is I'm really a redneck. Those formative years in high school when I watched a lot of Beavis and Butthead have obviouslydamaged my sense of class permanently. I guess I'll go fry a squirrel...
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